Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mark couldn’t wait to get home from work. His new job at Racing Bulls was rewarding, yes, but it was a different kind of satisfaction. More methodical, precise, and far removed from the rush of adrenaline he used to crave as a driver. Almost eight years had passed since he walked away from Formula 1, officially retired from racing for 5 years. Yet the sport had a way of pulling him back. First as a manager for younger drivers, then eventually as a development coach, he found himself once again orbiting the same world he had tried to leave behind.

On a normal day, the moment he pulled into his driveway, he would hear the scramble of paws on the other side of the door. Simba and Shadow, his dogs, excitedly waiting for him, tails wagging, bodies pressed against the frame, desperate to welcome him home. But tonight, the house was quiet. Too quiet.

Mark’s breath hitched as soon as he stepped inside. There, on his couch, sat a figure who looked entirely too comfortable with feet up on the sofa, his dogs’ heads resting peacefully on his lap as if they had belonged there all along. The dogs barely acknowledged Mark, lifting their eyes for a moment before settling back down, as though their loyalties had shifted.

“Hi.”

That was all Sebastian managed to say. His voice was soft, almost hesitant. The years were etched into his face now. Fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, his once golden hair longer and touched with fatigue, his blue eyes tired but still impossibly familiar. Mark found himself staring, unable to look away. It's been years since the last time Sebastian was home. At his home.

“What are you doing here?” Mark asked, his voice sharper than intended. He walked towards the kitchen dropping his things on the counter. Purposely putting as much distance as he can with the other person in his living room.

“I guess you didn’t read my messages?” Sebastian replied.

“You couldn’t call?”

“We both know you don’t pick up.”

Mark didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for his phone, buried deep in his work bag. A swipe, a scroll, and there they were. Dozens of unread messages, both long and short, each one carrying weight he hadn’t prepared himself to face. His eyes caught on one in particular: We’re getting divorced.

It was as though the air had been ripped from his lungs. His chest tightened, his heart stumbling over itself in a frantic rhythm. His fingers dug into the marble countertop until they ached, but it wasn’t enough to ground him. The room tilted, blurring at the edges. Panic attack.

“Mark, are you okay?” Sebastian’s voice cut through, closer now.

No. He wanted to shout, to tell Sebastian not to come near, not to touch him, not when everything felt so raw and dangerous. But his body betrayed him. His legs refused to move, his throat locked tight, and when Sebastian’s hand finally touched his back—warm, steady, achingly familiar—his knees buckled.

Sebastian caught him with a speed that spoke of instincts honed long ago on the track. Carefully, he guided them both to the floor, holding Mark upright as if he were something fragile that might break apart completely. Mark burned at the contact, his skin alive with the memory of everything he thought he had buried.

When his gaze finally lifted, it met Sebastian’s. The same blue eyes once bright, mischievous, magnetic now dimmed by years and hardship. Mark had loved those eyes. He had hated them. He had dreaded them. And now, seeing them wet with tears, searching his face desperately, he felt something unravel inside him.

“Breathe with me, Mark. Please?”

Sebastian’s voice was low, calm, steady. He inhaled slowly, exhaled with care, and after a beat, Mark forced himself to follow. His chest trembled, but gradually the rhythm returned, shaky but present. Sebastian’s hand intertwined with his, the other rubbing slow circles across his back, grounding him in the gentlest way possible.

How ironic, Mark thought dimly, that Sebastian the one in the middle of a divorce, the one who stood on the brink of losing everything, was the one holding him together keeping him from falling apart.

His breathing steadied. His vision cleared. Embarrassment began to creep in. Mark pulled his hand away, forcing his body upright. His legs were still unsteady, but Sebastian was quick to hover close, ready to catch him again if needed. Mark made it to the kitchen counter, his hands shaking as he reached for a glass. He filled it with water and drank deeply, each swallow rough but necessary. Even with his back turned, he could feel the weight of Sebastian’s gaze, following him, patient, unrelenting.

The water was cold, almost painfully so, but it gave Mark something to focus on besides the man now standing close to him. Too close. He lowered the glass slowly, the silence pressing in heavier than any words could. Finally, he turned, meeting Sebastian’s eyes again.

“So,” Mark said, his voice hoarse, “you’re getting divorced.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. He looked down at the dogs now hovering at his feet, as if searching for the right words somewhere in the fur of creatures that loved unconditionally. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly.

Mark’s laugh came out sharp, brittle. “What the fuck are you doing here then?"

“I don't know.” Sebastian’s tone was calm, too calm, like he’d rehearsed this. “I came because I guess I wanted to let you know. And because despite everything, despite all the years, this…” His hand gestured vaguely at the room, at Mark himself. “This still feels like home.”

The words landed like a punch. Mark gripped the counter harder, nails biting into the marble. Home. The very thing he had tried to rebuild without Sebastian, the very thing he thought he had finally made peace with.

“You don’t get to say that,” Mark muttered, the words tasting like iron on his tongue.

He wanted to stop there, but the silence in the room pressed too heavily against his skull. Sebastian’s presence, the easy way he sat in Mark’s house like he still belonged scraped against every raw edge Mark had tried to bury.

"You don’t get to just barge in whenever things fall apart with her." Sebastian flinched but didn’t answer. It was always the same pattern, wasn’t it? Sebastian showing up when his marriage cracked, carrying the word divorce like a weapon he never actually used. Mark had heard it before. Too many times. Each time, he had mourned it, clung to it, bled for it. And each time, Sebastian went back. 

He clenched the counter until his knuckles blanched. He could still remember those nights, the quiet apologies, the promises that it was finally over. And then the disappearing. Sebastian slipping away like smoke, leaving Mark with nothing but wreckage and silence.

“I’ve played this game before,” Mark said aloud, though his voice was quieter, almost hollow. His eyes didn’t leave the countertop. If he looked at Sebastian, if he looked at those eyes he might lose what little strength he had left.

“Because this isn’t new, Sebastian,” Mark pressed on, his words harsh, clipped. “This is what you do. You show up broken, lost, desperate and I’m supposed to pick up the pieces, right? I’m supposed to put you back together while you…” His laugh cracked, bitter. “…while you go back to your perfect little family. Every. Single. Time.”

The dogs stirred uneasily at the edge in his tone, their tails still but their eyes watchful. Sebastian’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt, didn’t fight back. He just stood there, taking it, and that almost infuriated Mark more.

Mark shook his head, his chest tightening again not panic this time, but something heavier, older. “You think I can just pick up where we left off? Like nothing happened?”

“No,” Sebastian said. His voice cracked on the single word. “I don’t expect that. I just… I needed to see you. Needed you to know.”

Mark shook his head, his hands still gripping the counter like if he let go, he’d fly apart. “I’ve played this game before. I know the ending. You leave me bleeding and you go running back. And I—” His voice cracked, sharp with something between rage and grief. “I can’t do that again. I won’t do that again.”

For the first time, Sebastian’s composure slipped. His eyes flickered with guilt, pain, the ghost of something Mark recognized too well—remorse that always came too late.

“I didn’t come here to hurt you,” Sebastian whispered.

Mark barked a humorless laugh. “Then you’re doing a hell of a job failing.”

Mark’s throat ached. He wanted to tell Sebastian to leave, to take his memories and his apologies and go back to the wreckage of his own life. But as Sebastian stood there, raw and broken, the dogs still loyal at his side, Mark couldn’t say it. Not yet.

Chapter Text

Mark Webber, the aussie grit, a driver with such a prolific racing career wouldn't probably be able to recount every detail of his life better than Wikipedia. But if you asked him about Sebastian Vettel, about the first times, he could confidently ace any exam without hesitation. His memory about him was still vivid.

The first time they met.

The first time they kissed.

The first time they had sex—and the moment it shifted into making love.

The first time they fought.

The first time they “broke up.”

And the first time Sebastian told him he was getting divorced.

It had been almost the same scene, years ago.

Sebastian in his living room, younger, so much younger but with bloodshot eyes that gave him away. His marriage still fresh, barely two months old, already fraying at the seams. He looked frustrated, restless, the kind of lost that only Sebastian could be when life wasn’t bending to his will.

Mark could still see it. Sebastian pacing the length of the living room, hands flailing as he recounted every petty fight, every slammed door, every word his new wife had thrown at him. She was heavily pregnant, exhausted, and fed up. He’d been more focused on Ferrari than on her, more obsessed with proving himself than learning what it meant to be a husband.

“She kicked me out, Mark,” Sebastian had snapped, dropping onto the sofa like a sulking teenager. “Over nothing! Over the stupidest, pettiest thing.”

But nothing was ever really nothing with Sebastian. Not then. Not now. Mark remembered how he’d ranted for hours, about the way she nagged him for being gone too much, about how she didn’t understand the pressure of his new seat at Ferrari, about how unfair it all was. He had been all sharp edges and frustration, like a boy throwing stones at glass just to hear it shatter.

And then, finally, the words. Yelled in the same careless way he’d slammed the door on his wife in Germany before boarding a plane to London straight to Mark. Let’s get divorced.

Just two months into marriage, and already Sebastian was here at Mark’s door, at Mark’s mercy, complaining about a life he had chosen but didn’t yet know how to live.

Mark had comforted him, of course. What else could he do? Sebastian was crumbling in front of him, unraveling like a boy too young for the weight he’d taken on. Mark had sat beside him on the couch, letting him rant and rage, letting the storm pass until Sebastian finally slumped against him, exhausted.

He remembered the heat of Sebastian’s forehead pressed into his shoulder, the way his voice cracked when he complained about how unfair it all was, how suffocating marriage felt already. For every bitter word, Mark had given him quiet patience, steady hands, the kind of calm Sebastian had always pulled from him without asking.

But he hadn’t believed it. Not for a second.

Not the talk of divorce. Not the declarations that he couldn’t go back. Because beneath all the dramatics, beneath the tantrum of a man still half a boy, there was a reality Sebastian couldn’t run from. He had a wife waiting in Germany. A baby on the way. And no matter how many times he swore he was done, Mark knew he wouldn’t leave. Not with a child about to be born.

So he had held him, stroked his hair, whispered reassurances he didn’t truly believe. And when Sebastian finally fell asleep on his couch, looking more like a boy hiding from consequences than a man ready to walk away from a family, Mark had only sighed.

By morning, Sebastian was calmer. Quieter. The fire of his tantrum had burned down into sullen ash. He sat at Mark’s kitchen table with a mug of untouched coffee, staring at the floor as if he could will the world into stopping just for him.

Mark remembered choosing his words carefully that day. Gentle, but pointed. He reminded Sebastian of the vows he had made, of the wife he had left in tears, of the child she carried who hadn’t even been born yet. He’d laced the words with practicality, but underneath, there was guilt. Enough to push Sebastian back toward Germany, back toward the family he’d sworn he wanted to walk away from.

It wasn’t the first time Mark had done it. Months before this incident, when the marriage was still an idea more than a reality, he had played the same part. He’d convinced Sebastian that marriage was the right thing, that a baby deserved parents who at least tried to build a home together. Mark had buried his own ache in the process, pressing Sebastian into the very life that would keep tearing them apart.

And it had worked. Sebastian went back. He always went back.

That was the pattern, the cycle Mark could predict down to the breath. Sebastian would run to him when it all fell apart, declare it was over, swear he couldn’t do it anymore. And Mark—stupid, loyal, still hopelessly in love—would put him back together, then send him home to someone else.

Mark had been certain it would never change. Certain he would always be the place Sebastian came to fall apart before going back to his real life.

At least, until the first time Sebastian told him they were getting divorced and Mark actually believed.

Chapter Text

Mark’s throat worked, words caught somewhere between fury and grief, until suddenly it all narrowed into one thought. His chest seized, and before he could stop himself, it burst out.

“God, Sebastian where are the kids?”

The words landed like a slap. Sebastian froze, mouth half-open, eyes flicking down as if the floor might give him an answer. Even the dogs stirred, ears twitching at the sharpness in Mark’s tone.

Mark pushed off the counter, closing the space with steps that felt heavier than they should. “You come here, sit in my house, and tell me this! While they’re… what? Just waiting? Just wondering where the hell their father is?”

“They’re safe,” Sebastian said quickly, the words stumbling out. His fists tightened against his knees. “With her. With their mother. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Safe,” Mark bit out, the laugh that followed sharp, bitter. “You think that’s enough? You think saying the word makes it true? You don’t get to vanish from their lives and call it safe.”

Sebastian’s face cracked, guilt spilling through the lines around his mouth, his voice catching on the edges. “You don’t think I know? You don’t think I lie awake wondering what this is doing to them? I do, Mark. Every night. But I—” he swallowed hard, “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Mark’s words kept coming, sharp and merciless, each one meant to cut deeper.

Mark’s chest tightened, anger folding into something heavier, but he refused to let it soften. He saw them in his mind, the small faces carrying pieces of Sebastian, every line and glance unmistakable. They deserved better than this, better than excuses.

He sank into the chair opposite, voice low but cutting. “They don’t care about excuses. They just care if you’re there.”

Sebastian’s head lifted at that, eyes glassy, searching, but Mark didn’t meet them. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor, jaw locked, because if he looked up—if he really looked—it might all unravel.

Mark leaned forward, the chair groaning under the sudden weight of him. His words came low, sharp, every syllable meant to wound. And just like that, it felt like they were back at Red Bull as teammates and rivals playing the same game of who can tolerate the pain more. Mark throwing every blow he could find, vicious, calculated, not caring if he left bruises. So he kept swinging. Because that was what he had always done against Sebastian. Hit harder, even when it broke him too.

“You sit here telling me about divorce like it’s just another game you’re playing but it’s not just her, Sebastian. You’ve got kids. And you leave them to clean up the mess every time you decide you can’t hack it. Do you get that? You’re not just walking out on a marriage, you’re walking out on them.”

Sebastian’s jaw worked, a tremor passing through his mouth before he bit it down. He didn’t answer.

Mark pressed harder, the heat in his chest burning bitter. “You want to know what this looks like? It looks like you choosing yourself. Every time. You’re selfish. You run here, to me, while they’re left asking where the hell their father went. You think that’s safe? You think that’s love?”

Sebastian’s shoulders hunched, guilt dragging him smaller in the chair. His eyes glistened, but he didn’t look away.

Mark’s throat tightened, his fury spilling faster, sharper. “They deserve better than a coward who bolts the second it gets hard. You’re not just a bad husband, you’re a bad father.”

The words hung in the air, vicious, final.

But that wasn’t true, and Mark knew it. He’d seen Sebastian with them—how his voice softened, how patience came so easily, how his whole body lit up when one of them reached for him. Sebastian was reckless, impossible, and infuriating, but never with them. Never with his kids. He was a horrible husband, maybe, but not a bad father. Mark knew that as sure as he knew his own name. He hated himself for saying otherwise.

Sebastian flinched as if struck, but still he didn’t move, didn’t defend himself. Just sat there, silent, as if taking every word Mark threw at him was the only penance he knew how to give.

Mark’s laugh came sharp, humorless, filling the silence Sebastian refused to break.

“Christ, you don’t even fight back, do you? You just sit there, let me do the talking, because it’s easier than owning up to it. That’s who you are, Sebastian. You make a mess and then leave everyone else to sweep it up. Your wife. Your kids. Me.”

Sebastian’s lips parted, as if to protest, but nothing came out. His throat worked, silent.

Mark leaned in, eyes burning. “Do you ever think about them? Really think about them? Do you picture their faces when they’re asking where you are? Do you imagine what it’s like for them to watch you disappear every time you decide you can’t handle it? Because that’s what they’ll remember, Sebastian. Not the wins. Not the trophies. Not even the bedtime stories. They’ll remember that you left.”

Sebastian’s breath hitched, quiet but sharp, like the words had pierced somewhere deep.

Mark’s voice rose, ragged. “You don’t get to call yourself a father if you’re only one when it’s easy. If you can only show up when it suits you. That’s not a father. That’s a coward hiding behind excuses.”

His chest heaved, every muscle tight, fury boiling over into something he couldn’t stop. And still, underneath it, he knew the truth. He had seen Sebastian hold them, tuck them in, kiss their foreheads like they were the only thing in the world that mattered. He knew Sebastian loved them in a way that was deep, unshakable. He knew, if there was anything Sebastian had ever done right, it was being a father. But the words kept coming anyway, because Mark needed to hurt him, needed him to feel even an inch of the pain he carried.

Sebastian’s eyes were wet now, unblinking, fixed on him. He didn’t move. Didn’t run. Just sat there, stripped bare under every accusation Mark hurled his way.

Mark slammed his hand against the counter, the crack of skin on stone splitting the air. “You’re selfish, Sebastian. Always have been. And now you’re dragging them down with you.”

The silence that followed was a chasm, heavy, suffocating. Even the dogs had stilled, ears pinned back, watching with wide eyes. Mark stood there, chest heaving, throat raw, staring at the man across from him and hating himself for how much he still cared. Mark’s voice was ragged, low, but it carried like a blade.

“You think they don’t notice? You think kids don’t feel it when their father disappears?”

Of course they notice. Of course they feel it. And yet Mark knew Sebastian never let them. He’d seen him crouch to their level, explain the world with patience Mark never thought he had. He was present in ways Mark could never erase. But he needed to hurt him now, so he twisted the knife.

Sebastian’s mouth opened, shut again. His knuckles whitened against his knees.

Mark leaned in, relentless. “They’ll remember, Sebastian. Not the bedtime stories, not the weekends you managed to show up. They’ll remember the nights you weren’t there. The questions their mother couldn’t answer.”

But Mark remembered the stories too. He remembered Sebastian on the floor with toy cars, voices and laughter spilling out like he had all the time in the world. He remembered watching, heart aching, because Sebastian was a better father than he had ever been a husband. Still, he couldn’t stop himself. He needed to strip it bare.

Sebastian’s breath came unsteady, chest rising too fast. Face too red trying to surpress all his sobs.

Mark pressed harder, his laugh sharp, hollow. “And one day, they’ll stop asking. They’ll stop waiting at the door. Because kids aren’t stupid. They’ll learn. They’ll realize not to expect you at all.”

God, he hated himself. He’d seen those kids run to Sebastian every single time, faces lighting up like nothing else mattered. They never stopped waiting. They adored him, clung to him, thrived in his orbit. But saying it cut deeper, and Mark wanted him to bleed.

“Mark—” Sebastian’s voice cracked, barely audible.

Mark cut over him, every word a strike. “And when that day comes, they won’t just see a husband who failed their mother. They’ll see a father who failed them.”

Lie. Lie. Lie. He had never failed them, not once. Mark knew it, hated himself for knowing it. Sebastian could burn every bridge, betray every vow, and still never those kids. But it didn’t matter. Mark wanted him broken. He wanted him to feel it.

Sebastian’s head snapped up, eyes wide, face breaking.

“Stop.” His voice shook.

Mark didn’t. He leaned closer, words venomous now. “They’ll know exactly who left them, Sebastian. Exactly who wasn’t there when it mattered.”

He was always there. Mark had seen him leave the track early just to make it to a school recital. Had seen him sit cross-legged on the carpet with all of them climbing him like he was the center of their universe. But truth didn’t matter here. Only pain did.

“Stop.” Louder this time, ragged, like he couldn’t breathe. His hands trembled against his thighs.

Mark’s chest heaved, anger still spilling. “You’ve been running your whole life. But this—this is the one thing you don’t get to run from. They’ll carry it. Every day. And when they’re old enough to understand, they’ll know their father chose himself over them.”

No. No, he hadn’t. Not once. Sebastian had chosen them every time, even when it cost him everything else. Even when it cost Mark. And maybe that was the worst cut of all, that Mark had never been chosen in the same way.

“Stop, Mark!” Sebastian’s voice finally broke, the words torn from his throat. His whole body shook, tears brimming over as he snapped, raw and desperate:

"One day they'll realize you never fought for them—"

“It wasn’t me this time! It was Janna! She’s the one who wants out!”

The confession ripped the air apart, leaving only the sound of Sebastian’s ragged breathing.

Mark froze. His mouth still half-open from the accusation, his body leaning forward, ready to strike again but the sound of Sebastian’s voice, cracked and desperate, cleaved straight through him.

Janna.

She was the one. Not him. Not this time.

Mark’s chest heaved, the fire of his anger sputtering out all at once, leaving only smoke, only exhaustion. He blinked, slow, as if trying to process words in a language he didn’t understand. Janna wanted out. Sebastian hadn’t said those words before, not once, not in all the years of tantrums and threats and slammed doors. It had always been him. Always Sebastian shouting divorce in the heat of an argument, swearing he couldn’t do it anymore. But Janna, she had always stayed. Janna had forgiven. Janna had kept the house standing, no matter how broken the beams were.

And now she was the one who wanted to leave.

Mark sank back, shoulders heavy, guilt crawling up his spine like a fever. Every word he had hurled, every cruel strike meant to cut Sebastian down, suddenly felt hollow. Lies he’d spat just to wound and none of them true. None of them fair.

His throat tightened, the weight of it crushing. He had tried to frame Sebastian as a selfish father, a coward who couldn’t stay. But he knew better. He’d always known better. He was a terrible husband, yes. But never a bad father. Never.

The silence that followed was unbearable. Sebastian’s chest heaved with ragged breaths, his eyes still wet, his hands trembling in his lap. And Mark was tired. exhausted. The anger had drained out of him, leaving only shame in its wake.

He rubbed a hand over his face, the fight gone from his voice when he finally spoke. “Christ, Seb…”

The words died there. There was nothing left to throw. Nothing left to hide behind. Just the truth, sharp and raw, that he had wasted every breath lashing out only to find it had all been for nothing.

Chapter Text

The silence pressed in thick, suffocating. Not the kind that settled rooms into peace, but the kind that rang in the ears, louder than any shout. Mark sat in it, chest heaving, throat raw, and all he could hear was the echo of his own words—sharp, merciless, untrue.

Sebastian hadn’t looked at him in what felt like hours. His gaze stayed fixed on the floor, lashes wet, jaw tight, shoulders curled in as if bracing for another strike. It was the longest Mark had ever seen him avoid eye contact, and it unsettled him more than the shouting had. Sebastian had always been defiant, always ready to meet a blow head-on, even when he was wrong. But now he just sat there, small and still, as if every year had finally caught up to him.

Mark studied him in the silence, unable to stop himself. Gone was the boy who had once stormed into his life, all sharp elbows and impossible arrogance. Gone was the golden-haired prodigy who believed he could bend the world to his will. In his place sat a man who carried the weight of years in the lines around his eyes, in the slump of his posture, in the gray threaded through his hair. He looked older. Tired. And for the first time, Mark realized he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Sebastian look young. It was only then Mark saw the tears. They slid soundless down Sebastian’s face, catching in the light before falling to his lap. No words, no protest, just tears that kept coming, carving paths through years etched into his skin.

Mark felt his chest seize, throat closing, and only when his vision blurred did he realize the damp on his own cheek. He wiped at it with the back of his hand, furious with himself, but it didn’t matter. The silence had stripped them both down, and there was no hiding left.

He had accused Sebastian of being a coward, a selfish father, a man who abandoned the children who adored him. Lies. Every single one of them. Lies he had thrown because he wanted to see Sebastian break, because he needed to hurt him the way he’d been hurt himself. And Sebastian had let him, sitting there with tears threatening, taking every blow as if he deserved it.

It wasn’t the first time he’d reduced Sebastian to this. He remembered another night, years ago, when he had torn him down just as brutally. Words had cut deep too, sharp and unforgiving, until Sebastian was shaking, sobbing against him like the world was ending, begging him for something Mark couldn’t give. And Mark had consoled him the only way he knew how. He had pulled him close, let him collapse into his arms, held him through every ragged breath until the fight drained out of him. But comfort had bled into something heavier, something desperate. Sebastian had clung to him as if he was the last solid thing left, and Mark hadn’t stopped him. He hadn’t wanted to. He let Sebastian take what he needed, let himself give in too, until every touch, every kiss, carried the weight of goodbye. That night, Mark had made Sebastian feel—if only for a few fleeting hours—that he was still his. That he belonged to him. That nothing outside that room mattered. But even as he gave him that, Mark knew the lie he was weaving. He knew he was going to push him back toward the life he swore he didn’t want, back toward vows that were already waiting at the altar.

And now, watching him cry silent tears at his kitchen table, Mark felt the same pull. The urge to reach across, to hold him again, to patch over the wounds he himself had opened. To give him something, anything, to quiet the breaking. But his hands stayed clenched at his sides, his body rigid with guilt. He was torn between repeating the way he had consoled him years ago to make up for the pain he had caused, or just let the pain linger and let it be.

He dragged in a breath, fighting against the memory that pressed at the edges of his mind. The last time he had hurt him like this. The last time Sebastian had begged him not to.

It had been the night before the wedding.

Mark had kept his distance for weeks, cutting contact clean, convincing himself it was the only way to survive the inevitable. The wedding was coming whether he liked it or not, and he had tried to make peace with the fact that he had to let Sebastian go. He ignored the calls, the messages, anything that might pull him back in.

Until Sebastian’s parents called. Not just called, begged. Their voices low, frantic, breaking in ways he’d never heard before. Sebastian was losing it. He wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t stop pacing the house, raging one moment and crumbling the next. Nothing calmed him. Nothing worked. And finally, they pleaded: Please, Mark. Come. He’ll listen to you.

So he went. Against every instinct, against the wall he’d built, he went.

And what he found was chaos. Sebastian in the middle of it, younger but wrecked, red-eyed and raw, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal. His voice was hoarse from shouting, from crying, from tearing himself apart in front of anyone unlucky enough to be near. His parents looked on helplessly, their hands wrung tight, as if Mark’s arrival had been their last hope.

When Sebastian saw him, the breakdown only sharpened. His face crumpled, his body sagged with relief and fury all at once.

“Where the hell have you been?” Sebastian’s voice cracked, a mix of rage and grief. “You just vanish! Like none of this matters to you while I’m supposed to stand there tomorrow and marry her?”

He was spiraling, shaking, words tumbling out faster than he could control.

“I can’t do it, Mark. I can’t. I don’t want this! I don’t want her.” His fists slammed against his chest, against the walls, against anything he could find. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Sebastian was unraveling in front of him, every second louder, messier, more impossible to contain.

“You think I can just walk down that aisle tomorrow and pretend?” His voice broke, cracking sharp in the air. “Pretend I love her, pretend this is what I want, when all I can think about is you?”

He paced the room like he was trying to wear a hole through the floor, his movements frantic, jerky. His hands clawed at his hair, tugging until strands slipped free, until his scalp was red. His chest heaved, every breath catching like it hurt to draw air.

“I begged you not to leave me, and you disappeared anyway!” His fists slammed the wall so hard the frame rattled. He spun back toward Mark, face twisted with rage and heartbreak. “You think I can live with this? You think I can stand there tomorrow and bind myself to her while you—while you stand back and let it happen?”

Tears streamed unchecked, his whole body shaking with the force of it. He was a storm contained only by four fragile walls, breaking everything inside with him.

“Say something!” he shouted, voice raw, pleading now. “Tell me not to do it, Mark! Please—please tell me, and I’ll stop this. I swear, I’ll stop it all. Just tell me you still want me.”

Sebastian’s knees buckled, his body collapsing into the sofa like the weight of it had finally crushed him. He buried his face in his hands, sobbing, the kind of sound Mark had never heard from him before, animal, broken, tearing itself out of his chest.

And through it all, he kept repeating, over and over, voice muffled but desperate.

“I don’t want her. I don’t want this. I just want you.”

“Actions have consequences, Seb,” Mark repeated, his voice sharp, venom cutting every word. “You think you can scream your way out of this? You think throwing a tantrum fixes the fact you fucked up?”

The words slipped out before Mark could stop them, low and venomous, but it was because he couldn’t stand the sight of him like this. Sebastian crumpled, sobbing, looking more shattered than Mark ever felt himself and that was unbearable. Because Mark was hurt too. Maybe more than he would ever admit.

He’d left Formula 1, thrown himself into WEC, forcing himself busy enough to survive. He told himself it was the right choice, the only way to carve out a life that wasn’t orbiting Sebastian Vettel. Meanwhile, Sebastian was still there, still chained to Red Bull, suffocating under the pressure of a team that had turned its back on him after every misstep. Mark had heard the whispers, the bad race, the fight with the engineers, the new teammate who outpaced him. How the golden boy of Formula 1 had started to wobble, cracks splitting through the armor he had built around himself.

And in that spiral, he had wavered. Drowned it out in alcohol, too much too fast. Mark hadn’t been there, not to steady him, not to drag him out before it went too far. He’d been thousands of miles away, head down in his own new world, too determined to move on to notice Sebastian was falling apart. And one drunken night had changed everything. Janna. His childhood friend. The mistake that could never be undone.

Mark felt the bitterness rise in his throat even now, the same bitterness that had burned in him since the first moment he heard it. “You got yourself here, Seb. Fighting the team, sulking after every bad race, letting that kid teammate of yours eat you alive. And instead of getting your head straight, you drowned yourself in booze like a coward, you lost your head. And look where that got you. You can’t claw that back. You can’t scream your way out of it.”

Sebastian lifted his head at that, face streaked with tears, eyes bloodshot, furious, and wide. It was the first time Mark has blamed him for what had happened and he sure pressed on, his voice rougher, harsher, because he was drowning in it too.

“You think I wasn’t gutted when I found out? You think I didn’t tear myself apart knowing I wasn’t there—that I let you fall into her arms when it should have been mine? You think that doesn’t kill me, every damn day?”

“You weren’t strong enough to face me, so you found her. One drunken night, and now she’s carrying the weight of it all. Your mistake. Your mess. And tomorrow you’ll stand there, hand in hers, because you couldn’t control yourself for five fucking minutes.”

He shook his head, jaw tight, his chest burning with fury and grief tangled so tight he couldn’t separate them.

Mark’s chest heaved, fury spilling unchecked. “You want me to say I still want you? You want me to save you from this? Christ, Sebastian, you ruined that the second you let someone else touch you. The second you let her become the mother of your child.”

The words hit harder than he intended, heavier than he could take back. The look on Sebastian’s face—devastated, undone—would haunt him for years.

And still, Mark hated himself, because even as he spat them, his body betrayed him. He wanted to reach out, wanted to hold him, to kiss the tears from his face, to take him one more time before it all ended. But instead, he stayed rooted where he was.

Mark’s voice broke, rage twisting into something rawer, messier.

“God, you don’t get it, do you? You don’t know how much I wanted you. How much I fucking hated this—” He gestured wildly, at the room, at the world, at the mess that had swallowed them both. “I hated watching it all happen, hated knowing I wasn’t there for one goddamn second, and in that second you managed to ruin everything.”

Sebastian’s breath caught, his shoulders jerking.

Mark leaned closer, eyes burning. “If I’d been there—if I’d just stayed by your side...you wouldn’t have drowned yourself in booze, you wouldn’t have stumbled into her bed, and you wouldn’t be standing here about to marry a woman you don’t love. All because I blinked. All because I wasn’t there for you once.”

The words fell like shards of glass, jagged and unrelenting. His throat ached, his chest tight with the truth he could no longer choke down.

“I hate it,” he whispered, voice trembling now. “I hate what you’ve turned us into. I hate that you’re tying yourself to her because of one mistake. And I hate that you’re mine in every way that matters—but tomorrow you’ll belong to her.”

Sebastian’s face crumpled completely then, silent tears streaking hot down his cheeks. And Mark knew, with a sick weight in his gut, that nothing he could say would fix it.

Mark’s jaw clenched, his words turning flat, measured, cruel in their steadiness. “We don’t always get what we want, Seb." Sebastian flinched, his eyes lifting, desperate, but Mark didn’t waver.

“You’re Sebastian Vettel. Four-time world champion. The golden boy. The one who was supposed to be untouchable.” His tone was almost clinical, a statement of fact, but the venom curled beneath it. “You don’t get to fall apart like this. You don’t get to say you don’t want it anymore. And you sure as hell don’t get to walk away with me.”

Sebastian shook his head violently, tears spilling faster, but Mark pressed on, relentless.

“You think you can just drop everything—her, the baby, the family, the reputation—and run off with me? Like the world won’t notice? Like it won’t burn everything you’ve built to the ground?”

His chest rose and fell, his throat raw, but the words kept coming, cutting sharper.

“You can’t. You can’t just walk away. Not from this. Not from them. Not when you’re you.”

The silence after was brutal, heavier than any shouting could have been. Sebastian sat there, undone, tears streaming, the fight ripped out of him. And Mark felt the weight of his own words slam back into him, cold and merciless. He hated himself for saying them. Hated himself for meaning them.

Sebastian’s head snapped up, wet eyes blazing through the tears. “I don’t care!” His voice cracked, half-shout, half-sob. “I don’t care about them, about the press, about Red Bull, about the fucking world—I just want you! I don’t want her, I don’t want this marriage, I don’t want any of it if it means losing you!”

He pushed forward, grabbing at Mark’s arm, his grip trembling, desperate. “Say the word, Mark. Tell me not to do it, and I won’t. I swear I won’t. Just tell me you still want me and I’ll walk away from it all right now.”

Mark’s chest seized, his breath catching rough. For a moment he almost gave in, almost let himself believe it could be that simple. But then the truth slammed into him, heavy and brutal.

This wasn’t Sebastian. Not the Sebastian he knew. Sebastian was stubborn, relentless, insufferably ambitious. He didn’t beg. He didn’t fold. He didn’t talk about giving up, not on anything, not on anyone. To see him like this, ready to throw away everything he’d built for something as fragile as love, for him —it was unbecoming. Wrong. Like watching a world champion throw the race before the lights even went out. This wasn’t the fighter he had gone wheel to wheel with. This was someone broken, reckless, begging to lose. Sebastian Vettel doesn't mean any of those words.

Mark tore his arm back, fury and grief tangled in his throat. “Don’t—” The word came out like a plea, hoarse and guttural. “Don’t you dare throw your life away for me.”

Sebastian froze, tears streaming unchecked.

Mark’s throat burned, his vision blurred, but he forced the words out. “You’ve got a child on the way, Seb. A family. A whole future tied to them. You walk away now, and you’re not running to me! You’re abandoning everything! And I can’t let you do that.”

The silence after was crushing, filled only by Sebastian’s jagged sobs, his body folding in on itself. And Mark sat there, trembling with the weight of it, knowing the only thing left for him to do was carry the guilt.

Sebastian shook his head so hard it looked like he might tear himself apart. His hands clawed through his hair, his shoulders jerking with sobs he couldn’t swallow down.

“I don’t want a future without you,” he choked, voice wrecked. “Don’t you get it? I can’t stand there tomorrow and pretend. I can’t smile for the cameras, I can’t promise her forever when forever is you. It’s always been you, Mark. It’s only ever been you.”

He reached for him again, fingers trembling, clutching at his shirt like a drowning man. “Please,” he begged, tears streaming freely now, no pride left in him. “Please don’t make me do this. Tell me not to go through with it. Tell me I can stay. Tell me I’m still yours.”

The sound of it ripped through Mark’s chest, each word another crack he couldn’t patch. He had wanted this, God, he had wanted this for years, he had wanted Sebastian to choose him, to say his name like it was everything. But not like this. Not when it meant burning everything else to ash.

He pressed a hand against his face, hating himself for the tremor in his voice. “God knows I want you. God knows I’ve never stopped. But I won’t be the reason you burn it all down. I won’t carry that. Not for the rest of my life. Not for the rest of yours.”

“Please.” The word tore out of Sebastian, ragged and unsteady, like it had been dragged from the deepest part of him. He dropped to his knees before Mark, hands trembling as they clutched at his legs, his face tilted upward, eyes wide and wet with a kind of pleading Mark had never seen from him in all their years.

But this wasn’t Sebastian. Not the fighter, not the champion, not the boy who would wrestle the world into submission just to win. This was someone breaking in his arms, desperate enough to surrender the very things that made him who he was.

Mark’s jaw clenched, his vision blurred, his body trembling with the effort to hold the line. But when Sebastian’s voice cracked one last time, “Don’t let me lose you."

Mark broke, the fight left him.

He reached out, grabbed him, pulled him close until Sebastian collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest. Mark held him tight, one hand in his hair, the other gripping his back like if he let go, they’d both disappear. He whispered nothing, no promises, no reassurances, because there weren’t any left to give. There was only this, the weight of Sebastian in his arms, the heat of his tears soaking through, the ache of knowing this was the last time.

And when Sebastian kissed him, desperate, broken, Mark didn’t stop him. He kissed him back, because he couldn’t do anything else. Because for that night, for those hours, he let Sebastian be his again.

Their last night together. Only Mark and Sebastian. The night before the wedding.

That night, every touch felt like a prayer, every kiss like a last goodbye. Mark memorized him with his hands, with his mouth, as if carving him into memory could keep him. He moved slow where he could have been rough, gentle where he could have been selfish, because he knew this was it, the last time Sebastian would be his. The last time he could hold him without anyone else between them. The last time they could pretend they're the only people in the world.

Sebastian clung to him like a man drowning, whispering his name like a plea, like a confession, like it was the only word he had left. Mark kissed the tears from his face, whispered nothing back, because there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t make it worse. So he let his actions speak instead. He held him, took him, gave him the only comfort he had left to offer, the comfort of belonging, of being Mark’s for one more night.

And when it ended, when Sebastian finally stilled against him, shaking and exhausted, Mark wrapped his arms around him and refused to let go. He buried his face in his hair, breathed him in, and felt his own tears fall silently. He held him through the night, wide awake, heart breaking with every breath, because morning was coming and he couldn’t stop it.

Morning came all the same.

Sebastian sat on the edge of the bed, eyes swollen, face pale, body heavy as if gravity itself had doubled overnight. He couldn’t move, couldn’t lift his head, until Mark forced himself to. He rose, wordless, and gathered the pieces. He found the suit hanging by the door, crisp and waiting. He brought it to him, one piece at a time, and dressed him like he was fragile glass. Straightening the jacket. Buttoning the cuffs. Smoothing the tie.

Sebastian’s tears spilled again, silent, sliding down his cheeks as Mark worked. And Mark kept his face steady, his hands firm, even as his own vision blurred. He swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to be strong, because one of them had to be.

When he finished, he cupped Sebastian’s face in both hands, wiped the tears away with his thumbs, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He lingered there, eyes shut, lips against skin, as if he could seal the moment into forever.

Then he let go.

And Sebastian stood, dressed for a wedding Mark had convinced him to face, carrying the weight of a night that would never happen again.

The morning blurred into the ceremony, though Mark remembered every second of it. He remembered walking into the church and keeping himself tucked away in the back row, far from the cameras, far from the eyes that might have recognized him. He sat where no one would notice, where he could see Sebastian but Sebastian could never see him. And God, did he watch.

Sebastian stood at the altar, clean and sharp in the suit Mark had dressed him in only hours before, his face pale but composed. The boy who had fallen apart in Mark’s arms the night before was gone, replaced by the world’s golden champion, standing straight, jaw tight, giving the performance of his life. The vows came halting, rehearsed, but steady enough for everyone who mattered to believe them. Everyone except Mark. He could hear the break in every word, see the flicker in every glance.

Mark’s hands clenched against his knees. Every part of him wanted to scream, to drag him out of there, to undo it all. But he sat still, shoulders hunched, eyes burning, swallowing his own devastation in silence. Because this wasn’t his fight. This had never been his fight.

At one point, he glanced sideways. Sebastian’s parents were a few rows ahead, their shoulders tight with tension, eyes glistening but proud. His mother turned ever so slightly, her gaze finding Mark in the shadows. And in that small moment, she gave him a nod, soft, grateful, knowing. A thank you for holding her son together when no one else could.

That was when Mark stood. He couldn’t take it anymore. He slipped out quietly, his footsteps muffled against the stone floor. He didn’t wait for the rings, didn’t wait for the kiss, didn’t wait for the applause. He left Sebastian to his vows, to the life Mark had pushed him back toward, and walked away before the ceremony ended.

Outside, the air was sharp and cold. He didn’t look back.

The memory bled away slowly, dissolving into the same heavy silence that filled the kitchen now. Mark blinked, and it was no longer the church, no longer that suit he had buttoned with shaking hands, no longer the vows he hadn’t stayed to hear. It was Sebastian here, older, heavier with years, tears drying on his face but eyes still glistening in the dim light.

Mark swallowed hard, throat raw with words he hadn’t spoken in years. After everything he had just remembered, after everything he had thrown at him tonight, all he wanted, maybe for the first time, was to apologize.

He opened his mouth, voice low, hoarse. “Seb, I'm so—”

But Sebastian cut him off, sharp but steady, shaking his head before Mark could go further. His voice was quiet, but it carried, as if it had been waiting all along.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said. His gaze finally met Mark’s, firm despite the redness in his eyes. “What I did to you was far worse.”

Mark’s brows drew tight, his voice breaking rough. “Why?”

Sebastian’s shoulders lifted with a shaky breath. He looked down at his hands, then back up, and this time there was no bitterness in his face. Only a softness, almost fragile, as if admitting it out loud had taken something heavy off him.

“Janna found someone,” he said quietly. And then he smiled. A real smile, small, tired, but genuine. His eyes shone, not with resentment, but with something close to relief. “She deserves that, you know? Someone steady. Someone who loves her the way I never could.” He swallowed, the smile trembling but holding. “I’m glad for her. I really am.”

The words hit Mark harder than if he’d spat them with venom. His chest tightened at the sight of that smile not because it was cruel, but because it was kind. Because Sebastian meant it.

Mark leaned forward, voice unsteady, almost disbelieving. “Then why?” His hand pressed flat against the table, knuckles white. “Why have another kid then? Why keep tying yourselves tighter if you knew you couldn't make it last?”

Sebastian’s eyes flickered, the smile faltering at the edges, but not vanishing.

Mark’s throat ached, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I love your kids, Seb. All of them. Every one of them. Maybe sometimes Basti the most... because he’s still so little, because he still looks at you like you hung the moon.” His chest heaved, grief knotting his words. “So why bring another life into this, if you weren’t going to make it work?”

The question lingered in the silence, cutting through the room sharper than any fight they’d ever had.

Sebastian said nothing. His lips pressed tight, his shoulders curled in, his eyes fixed on the floor. And in that silence, Mark felt the shame. The answer that would never come.

There were no words to his question. No neat reason why they hadn’t fought harder, why it had slipped away even after another child, why every attempt had crumbled. Just silence.

Mark leaned back slowly, the weight of it pressing on his chest. For a long moment, the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator, the faint shift of the dogs on the floor.

Finally, he asked, his voice rough but steady. “Are they still going to Melbourne? For the grand prix?”

Sebastian lifted his head at that, blinking once, as if surprised by the shift. Then he nodded. “Yes, Mathilda’s swim meet is the same week in Melbourne. And you know how much Samantha loves the Moomba Festival.” His mouth twitched faintly, something softer flickering across his face at the mention of his daughters.

Mark’s jaw worked, his throat tight. He nodded once, clipped, the words almost mechanical. “Okay. I’ll have the beach house prepared again.”

Sebastian shifted in his chair, wiping at his face with the heel of his hand. His voice was quiet when it came, careful, almost apologetic. “I should go. I don’t want to bother you. You’ve already done more than I deserve just by listening.”

For a moment, Mark said nothing. His chest was tight, his head full of all the words he could say. You are a bother, you’ve always been a bother, you’ve ruined me, you’ve saved me, you’ve been everything I never should’ve wanted but still do. But none of those came out.

Instead, he looked at Sebastian, really looked. At the lines carved into his face, the exhaustion in his posture, the tears drying at the corners of his eyes. And for once, Mark didn’t think about the past or the future, about everything that had been said or everything still unsaid. He thought only of now.

“Stay."

Chapter Text

Four days have passed since Sebastian arrived at Mark’s house. The days had bled together in the quiet way only Mark’s home could manage. Slow mornings, the smell of coffee that wasn’t his, the faint creak of the same floorboards he used to know by sound alone. Everything felt familiar but somehow foreign, like a song whose lyrics he still remembered but couldn’t bring himself to sing.

It had been three years since he had stayed here. Never dared to visit even once. Too ashemed, too guilty to even deserve to step foot in the this place. And for the first time since he became tied with family, he's actually staying. Slept under this roof, set his toothbrush next to Mark’s, counted the footfalls down the hall at night and knew who they belonged to without looking. Three years of Mark making sure their paths only crossed in safe places, crowds, holidays, rooms with witnesses. He had told himself it was better that way. Cleaner. He had been lying to himself with both hands.

He used to do that often. Show up without warning, suitcase in hand, shoulders heavy with fights he couldn’t win at home. Mark would open the door without a word, and Sebastian would slip inside like he was crossing into another life. Those nights blurred together. The smell of rain on the porch, Mark’s quiet tolerance, the same seat at the kitchen table where he’d pretend not to cry. It had been the one place where he could unravel without having to explain himself. The one person who never made him feel small for breaking.

But now, sitting in that same kitchen, he felt like a trespasser. Every corner of the house seemed to remember him better than Mark did. The faint scratches on the countertop from when he’d once carved something carelessly with his keys. The old mug still shoved at the back of the cupboard, white with a fading red stripe that Mark never used but never threw away. The ghosts of his laughter were still here, lingering like perfume that refused to fade, and that made it worse.

He ran a thumb along the rim of the mug, eyes downcast. He knew what he’d done. Every visit, every night he had left this house behind, every time he’d chosen to walk back into the life that crushed them both. It had all led here to this uneasy peace, this silence that wasn’t quite forgiveness. He knew how deeply he’d hurt Mark with that pattern, the arriving, the soft landing, the leaving. He could trace the fractures by memory. Apologies that asked too much, silences that lasted too long, the morning goodbyes that pretended not to be goodbyes at all. When he finally stopped coming, it wasn’t restraint. It was punishment. He had thought distance might make him better. It only made him aware of how much he had taken.

The last three years had been a pattern of short, polite interactions. Holidays when the kids insisted on seeing “Markie.” That was how they saw each other, through birthdays and recitals and school pick-ups that needed an extra adult. Mark came to Christmas once, stood at the back for Mathilda’s swim meet twice, brought a cake on Samantha’s birthday because “someone has to bring a decent one.” All kindnesses routed through the kids, never through Sebastian. Always enough to prove he still cared, never enough to reopen anything. A system that worked as long as he pretended it didn’t hurt.

He missed the ordinary things. The sound Mark made when he yawned and tried to hide it. The way he hummed without realizing when he chopped herbs. The instinct of moving around each other in the kitchen without colliding. He missed the permission to be quiet in someone else’s space. He missed Mark, and the missing lived under his ribs like a permanent stitch.

Sebastian used to tell himself it was enough. That Mark’s small gestures like the yearly postcard on his birthday or the short exchange of messages after a bad race meant something close to affection. But sitting here now, breathing the same air again, he realized how much he had starved for more. He missed the mornings when Mark’s voice was the first sound he heard, the way he’d hum absent-mindedly while making breakfast, the calm that came from simply being near him. He missed belonging somewhere, even if that belonging had always been temporary.

This house had been his hiding place. His halfway home. The one door that always opened when the world shut him out. This very house have always provided him warmth but now that he was back, it felt colder—not because Mark had changed the thermostat, but because Mark himself had changed.

Before, Sebastian had been the one with the sharp edges. Bratty, short-tempered, grabbing at the nearest thing and shaking it until it stopped making the wrong sound. Mark had been water on a flame. An anchor. Annoyed sometimes, yes, but patient, amused at the worst moments, infuriatingly calm. Now the roles felt reversed. Mark met him with shortness at the corners, with answers that came too fast, with a tired anger that didn’t flare so much as glow from beneath.

In these four days, Mark’s patience had thinned to threads. He snapped at the smallest things, sharp words cutting into the quiet. The man who once listened in silence now barked orders, muttered complaints, slammed doors a little too hard.

Sebastian took every one of them without a word.

It started with little things. The first morning, Sebastian had poured milk into Mark’s coffee and left the bottle on the counter instead of putting it back.

Mark’s voice cut through the room, low but pointed. “You planning to leave the whole kitchen out, or is it just this bottle?”

Sebastian blinked, startled. “Sorry, I’ll—”

“Don’t apologize,” Mark muttered, snatching the bottle himself and slamming it into the fridge. “Just… think.”

Sebastian had let it go.

Later that day, Mark came home to find Sebastian had taken the dogs for a walk, something he used to do instinctively. This time, Mark’s reaction was clipped, almost irritated.

“Next time, tell me first,” Mark said. “They’ve got a schedule. You can’t just change it.”

“They’re dogs, Mark,” Sebastian said lightly, hoping to ease the tension. “They won’t mind a longer walk.”

Mark shot him a look. “That’s not the point.”

Sebastian’s smile faltered. “Right. Of course.”

By the third day, it wasn’t about anything specific anymore. The wrong towel in the bathroom. The way Sebastian hummed while drying dishes. The sound of his phone buzzing too long before he answered.

“Could you not do that?” Mark snapped one evening, gesturing vaguely toward him.

“Do what?” Sebastian asked carefully.

“That thing. The—” Mark exhaled sharply. “The way you just stand there like everything’s fine.”

Sebastian’s voice softened. “I’m not trying to bother you, Mark.”

“Yeah, well,” Mark muttered, “you’re doing a hell of a job anyway.”

It would have been funny once. Sebastian would’ve laughed, thrown it back with a teasing grin until Mark’s irritation cracked. But now, the air was too fragile for humor. So he just nodded, eyes down, and finished washing the dishes. Every time Mark lashed out, Sebastian thought he deserved it. Maybe he did. Maybe this was what forgiveness looked like. Quiet punishment delivered in fragments, as if Mark couldn’t stop loving him but couldn’t stop resenting him either.

Still, he couldn’t help the ache. Every time Mark turned away, every clipped word, every slammed cupboard. It felt like watching something die in slow motion.

There were moments, though, between the tension and the silence, that still felt almost like before. Evenings when Mark would cook. Nothing fancy, just pasta, or soup and Sebastian would hover awkwardly by the counter, pretending to help but mostly getting in the way. They’d eat in near silence, sometimes talking about work, sometimes about the kids, sometimes not at all.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Sebastian would watch Mark across the table, the way he chewed slowly, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the faint crease in his brow when he was thinking. It was domestic in a way that felt dangerous. Soft, ordinary, everything Sebastian had once dreamed of.

He’d missed this. The quiet normalcy. The way dinner stretched longer than it needed to, simply because neither of them wanted to get up first. Sometimes Mark would even pour him a glass of wine. Sometimes he’d stay at the table after, talking about the testing schedule, about the car, about trivial things that didn’t hurt.

And every night, when Mark finally stood to clear the plates, Sebastian’s chest would tighten with the same thought he never said aloud, I could live like this.

But even that peace never lasted.

Tonight, Sebastian sat at the kitchen counter alone, the clock ticking past nine. Mark had texted hours ago: Running late. Don’t wait up.

Sebastian waited anyway.

He’d picked up pizza from the place they used to go to—extra cheese, no olives, Mark’s favorite. The box sat unopened on the table, steam long gone cold. The dogs had given up circling him and now slept by the door.

He traced a finger along the rim of his glass, thinking about the season ahead. The testing had gone well enough with Aston Martin. The car felt stable, predictable, maybe too predictable. The team seemed content, even optimistic. And yet, for the first time in years, Sebastian felt… still. Not restless. Not hungry. Just tired.

The thought of retirement had been whispering in the back of his mind for months. He’d hinted at it lightly during the day’s press session. Nothing direct, just a quiet “I’ve been thinking about life after racing.” It had slipped out before he could catch it, a half-truth wrapped in a smile. He hadn’t expected it to matter. Not yet.

He glanced at the clock again. 9:42. The front door opened sharply.

Mark stepped in, still in team gear, the smell of cold air clinging to him. His face was set, jaw tight, movements clipped.

Sebastian opened his mouth to greet him, but Mark spoke first.

“So it’s true then,” he said, voice low but cutting. “You told the press you’re thinking of retiring?”

Sebastian blinked. “I—yes. I just mentioned it. Casually. It wasn’t—”

“Casually?” Mark’s laugh was sharp. “You drop that kind of statement in a press pen and call it casual?”

“I didn’t mean it as an announcement,” Sebastian said, keeping his tone calm. “It just came up—”

“Do you even think before you speak?” Mark snapped. “You know what that does to the team? Your team? To the sponsors? To everyone who’s been backing you?”

Sebastian exhaled slowly. “Mark, it wasn’t planned. They asked about the future, and I said I’ve been thinking. That’s all.”

“You’ve been thinking,” Mark repeated, scoffing. “God, you sound just like you did before Red Bull imploded.”

The words landed heavy. Sebastian’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Mark pressed on. “You don’t get to just hint at quitting like it’s a weather forecast. You owe people clarity. You owe the team, the fans, hell, you owe yourself some damn consistency.”

Sebastian’s patience strained, but he kept his voice even. “I don’t owe anyone anything, Mark. Not anymore.”

“Oh, of course not.” Mark’s tone turned icy. “You just wake up one morning, decide you’re done, and the world has to adjust, right mate? Typical.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed. “Why are you angry about this? It’s my career.”

“Because you’re doing it again!” Mark’s voice rose, sharp and ragged. “You’re walking away when it still matters, when people still need you. When I—” He cut himself off, fists clenching. “You don’t just quit, Sebastian. That’s not who you are.”

Sebastian stared at him, searching for the man who used to steady him. “You make it sound like a crime to want peace.”

“You call it peace,” Mark said bitterly. “I call it running away.”

Something in Sebastian snapped then—not loud, but final. Days of holding back, of accepting every small cruelty, boiled to the surface.

“You think I’m running away?” His voice shook, low but sharp. “You think I haven’t earned the right to stop? I’ve given everything, Mark. Every race, every season. I’ve missed birthdays, I’ve lost sleep, I’ve broken myself just to keep fighting and you call it running away?”

Mark took a step closer, eyes dark. “You’re not fighting anymore. You’re quitting before you’ve got nothing left to prove.”

Sebastian laughed, disbelief cutting through the air. “Nothing left to prove? To who? To you?”

Mark froze.

Sebastian’s words came faster now, the dam breaking. “You think this is about you? About living up to your idea of what a racer should be? You left, Mark. You got out. And you think that gives you the right to decide when I should stop?”

“I left because I didn’t have a choice!” Mark shouted. “Because I couldn’t keep killing myself to prove I was worth half as much as you!”

“Then maybe you weren’t,” Sebastian snapped.

The silence that followed was brutal.

Mark’s expression didn’t change right away. His face just… emptied. Like something inside him shut down completely.

Sebastian realized what he’d said a heartbeat too late.

“Mark—”

Mark stepped back, jaw tight, eyes cold. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” Mark said again, quieter this time. He turned, grabbed his jacket from the chair, and left without another word.

The door slammed, rattling the frame.

Sebastian stood there, chest heaving, the words still burning in his throat.

He sank into the nearest chair, head in his hands, the weight of it all crashing down at once. He’d meant to explain himself. He’d meant to stay patient, to prove he could handle Mark’s temper, to not make things worse. But instead, he had done exactly what he swore he wouldn’t—hurt him again.

And this time, he didn’t know how to fix it.

He hadn’t even made progress, hadn’t rebuilt an inch of what they’d lost. And now he’d added a wound he didn’t know how to close.

The pizza sat cold on the counter between them, untouched.

Sebastian stared at it until the lights blurred, until his own reflection in the window looked like a stranger.